Reunion
by TwilliteSpirit
Summary: Wherefores And Whys...
1. Chapter 1

Watson felt like a part of him was being ripped out and dying as he watched Sherlock fall from the building. It was like watching it in slow motion; he could feel his heart beat, it felt like it was going to explode, or just quit beating all together. He couldn't breathe, he wanted to run to his friend; but every step felt like he was walking through lead. Then everything went silent. People were running around him, he was in a crowd of people, in the middle of a busy city street, but there was no sound at all.

As Sherlock Holmes hit the ground, all he wanted to do was push all these people out of the way, and be with his friend; it was like his worst nightmare come true, looking at his friend on the ground. He half knelt, half fell to the side of his friend, grabbing for his wrist, he silently prayed, "Please GOD let there be a pulse", but, there wasn't any, falling face down into the pavement, how could there be one? Watson's head was spinning, he was trying to think, his brain was screaming, he was trying to make sense of it, something was wrong, this was wrong, everything was wrong. So totally wrong, Wrong, WRONG!

Watson sat back onto the ground, everything was reeling around him, people pushing in from all sides, he needed to get away from all of this, awaken somehow from this horrible nightmare. He tried to get up, and stumbles, his legs are weak, but, finally, somehow, he forces them to work. Completely, and emotionally shattered from the scene, he stumbles down the street. This is all wrong, why Sherlock, why? Why? WHY?

Something was nagging at his brain, but he couldn't focus. His one true friend, dead, right before his eyes; he couldn't do anything to prevent it, couldn't stop it, he felt hopeless, lost, and alone, oh so very alone. In his hurt and in his hopelessly lost feelings, he walked in a daze; he didn't know how long he walked, where he went, or how he got home, or when he started drinking, or when he stopped drinking, or when he went to the funeral. When he came back to his senses, he was just looking down at Sherlock's grave, praying that this nightmare would end. Calling out to GOD, or anyone else that could hear, "Please don't let him be dead. Sherlock you have lived through so much more than this, let this time be one of them."

He half hoped for Sherlock to come out of hiding and reprimand him, say ing, "You are a fool to think me dead". But no, here he was standing at his grave, Sherlock's body buried in the earth. But there is an ache pounding at the back of his head, he had to focus now. Make some sort of sense of this, before he lost his senses. Find out why this happened; surely Sherlock wouldn't take his own life, not without having to do so, but, why?

So, what is he missing? The only way to figure this out would be to think like Sherlock.. Back up, check the facts; what did he know?

Fact one: He saw his friend fall from the building. What made him do it? His friend... His heart seems to have trouble taking each beat; how will he live without a man who changed his life so much in such a short amount of time? He starts to loose himself in grief again. Snap out of it man, time for facts. Be like Sherlock; no emotion, just facts.

Okay. Fact two: Cause of death. Fall from the building, landing face first into the pavement. Which caused skull fractures, and brain contusions, causing damage to the sagittal midline, lateral, and base areas of the brain. Resulting in brain hemorrhage and death.

Fact Three: Watson himself felt Sherlock's pulse. He was stone cold dead.

As he went through the facts in his head, he stops suddenly, and gasps, "HOW COULD I HAVE BEEN SO BLIND?"


	2. Chapter 2

The realization that came to Watson, that had been bugging the very back of his mind in the shadows, that finally came full force into the light, is that when Watson had grabbed Sherlock's wrist to check for a pulse, 'Sherlock' was barely warm. Not a freezer cold, but, almost cold none the less.

Of course if you die, you loose body heat, a body's warmth only last eight hours tops, and by then it's stiff with rigor mortis. 'Sherlock' was barely warm, no real heat in that body for a while. John knew he was right, he is a doctor after all; he had been around his share of bodies, he knew newly dead from dead for a while now:

A few hours after a person dies, the joints of the body stiffen and become locked in place with rigor mortis. Depending on temperature and other conditions, rigor mortis lasts approximately seventy-two hours. Then the decay of tissues and muscles loosens the body up. So the body was fairly flexible to fall the way it did.

Somebody went through a lot of trouble to make Sherlock look dead. Watson's only trouble with this was, since Moriarty is dead, who would do this? He prayed for all he was worth, it was Sherlock and that he was safe...

For now, he knew _**Sherlock**_ was _alive_! Was he being hopeful and just making this last bit up? A last ditch effort to deny the death of his friend...?

No, as a doctor, he was sure. The doctor in him used facts, facts don't lie. Because he didn't know all the answers yet, he would still play the part of a grieving friend. If it was indeed Sherlock, who went through all this trouble to 'die', he must have his reasons, so Watson would keep his secret. He would wait patiently, even though he wanted to go out and search for Sherlock.. He knew his friend would get a hold of him, when he could, or when he was able. When the time was right Sherlock, would find some Sherlockian way to get a message to him.

Watson found himself mixed with emotions now. He was filled with relief knowing his friend was really alive, he was filled also with doubt, what if he was wrong? There was also a sense of danger, why else would he make himself 'die'? Part of him wanted to go find Sherlock, and get all the answers from him, but, he knew he must not, so the only thing to do now, is to wait.

"Yes," Watson sighs, "Nothing else to do, but wait."


	3. Chapter 3

It had been a long time, and still no word; Watson was beginning to doubt himself. He no longer had nightmares of the war; he now had nightmares of watching his only true friend falling from the building again, and again, and again... He had on more than one occasion woken himself up, screaming out to Sherlock, telling him not to jump.

He had been in the house for months; he was going batty, and needed some air. Yes, that would do him good, maybe a brisk walk in the park, to clear out some of the cobwebs and maybe he would figure out if there was something he missed.

As he started to walk, he started to think; back to that day, back to everything... He was so caught up in his thoughts, he collided with a man exiting the bakery, knocking the poor gentleman down, strewing his baked goods all over the ground.

The man was in a rage, and jumped poor Watson, before he had time to even react; ihe two men scuffled for a bit on the ground before the police came to brake them up. Watson offered to pay for the gentleman's goods, as well as his dry cleaning, but the man just called him a bumbling idiot, and stormed off.

Watson in turn was upset by these events himself, not to mention, covered in baked goods, so he turned around and started home.

"I guess, I'll just go have a soak instead," He muttered to himself; he was covered in pie and jam filling. What a mess! People snickered as he walked by, which just worsened his disposition tenfold.

When he got home, he put his hand in his pocket for his keys, his pocket was full of pie insides as well. Sighing, Watson pulled out his keys, wiped them on a clean spot on his coat and headed inside to the bathroom.

He went in the bathroom directly, taking off his coat and shirt, feeling like he was being watched(he had never gotten over how Sherlock's brother Mycroft had bugged other parts of their flat), turning on the hot water and steaming up the bathroom, before removing his trousers.

Watson filled the bath up with warm water and was going to wash out his jacket before it stained, before he took a bath himself. He started emptying out the pockets first, getting all the biggest pie pieces seem the wisest start. When he put his hand in his other pocket, he found a little screw top container.

He slumped to the floor.

Could this be the message he had been waiting for? Could this be a trap? Could this be a note telling him where to pick up, Sherlock's real, dead body?

His hands shaking, he opened the container, looking inside to see that there indeed was a note.


	4. Chapter 4

Sitting in Saint Bartholomew's Hospital, the doctor says, "Your lucky to be alive, you only have a flesh wound, that mugger could have killed you." While the doctor went on and on about muggers, death, taking care of his wound, and discharge orders, Watson thinks back over the earlier events of the evening.

Watson was walking down the street, when a man came out of an alley with a gun, and issued him into the dark alley. They wrestled over the gun, a shot went off and Watson, slumped to the pavement. Two other men walked by, as the shot went off, and they laughed and kept walking, Watson said nothing as they walked by. He waited, still no-one came, he breathed out ratherly loudly, as he turned to Sherlock. He could barely see his his friend's outline in the dark. Which was good because it meant Sherlock couldn't see him, or the tears that escaped his eyes.

Sherlock quickly peeked out of the alley, no-one around, just as he knew there wouldn't be, now that John followers thought him to be dead. Sherlock said they had to make it quick none the less.

Sherlock said, Moriaty was, like himself, very much alive. Watson found that hard to believe, he had done the autopsy himself. He was positive he was dead, and glad of it. Sherlock said he didn't have time for details, and would explain more after checking out a few more things. Never questioning Sherlock's deductive reasoning, he didn't argue the point. It also explains why he, John, was being followed and by people wanting to see him come to harm, rather than to keep him safe, as evident by the two men that laughed and walked on.

They were in the process of just finishing up their plans for their next meeting place, when they heard the sirens. Someone had heard the shot, and it was time to Sherlock to go. Watson says, "What now"? Sherlock says, "Now I have to really shoot you". And even though Watson couldn't see him, he could swear he was smiling...


End file.
